


I'd be content to stay an afterthought

by Metronomeblue



Series: imagine me & you- forever [15]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Aftercare, Aizen fucks things up solely by existing, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Betrayal, Bisexual Male Character, Blood Kink, Bodyguard Romance, Breeding, Class Differences, Clothing Kink, Come Swallowing, Comeplay, Comfort, Communication, Creampie, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Gags, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, I say this but frankly they're all gay, I'm Going to Hell, Id Fic, Impregnation, In a way, Lack of Communication, Lactation Kink, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, Love Triangles, M/M, Military Uniforms, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Mythology References, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Painplay, Pansexual Character, Politics, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Pregnancy Kink, References to Arthurian Mythology, Royalty, Safe Sane and Consensual, Service Submission, Sort Of, Submission, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, in a way? - Freeform, just a touch, just checking off my usual Terrible Bisexual tropes one by one huh, lightly - Freeform, might have to add more tags if I forgot something, oh unholy god in heaven this one is A Lot, really outdid myself here huh, so very very gay, there are going to be like 30 tags abt marriage bc it's a big deal, very very mild but it's present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 01:07:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15919836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metronomeblue/pseuds/Metronomeblue
Summary: (just bring back some nice reminders)“It’s just not fair,” he repeated, fingers gentle where they wrapped around hers. The door opened behind him.“‘S not about fair,” Gin said quietly, looping one arm around Izuru’s waist and leaning down to kiss his temple. “You need an heir."~_~_~_~The King and Queen are planning for a family. The King's most favored Captain is more involved than he ought to be, but less than they'd like.





	I'd be content to stay an afterthought

**Author's Note:**

> Are there obscure references to royal infidelity in Arthurian myth in here? Yes. Are there lots of mentions of rude rumors surrounding royal infidelity in this? Also yes. Would I call this infidelity? Not at all. It’s a polyamorous marriage we’ve got here tyvm best believe everyone’s working through whatever baggage they’ve got in a happy healthy relationship because this is my own personal fantasy and that means lots of emotional support bc my real kink is communication. Also. Everything else in here. I guess. Please don’t judge me.
> 
> This was beta'd by the lovely Vizz from Visored-Headcanons on tumblr, though she goes by VizzyHC on here.  
> Definitely go check her stuff out for further emotional trauma and fancy dress.

She hadn’t expected him to come back so soon. He’d been out on patrol, checking the borders and the guardhouses, making sure everything was up to standard. The rounds, the inspections, the training- so many boring tasks that he’d rather pass on to someone else. He might have, if it weren’t for the fact that Izuru only trusted him with them. She was surprised to see him so soon. They’d expected him to be out another two weeks at least, but Gin was nothing if not efficient. Given the opportunity, it made sense that he’d come back sooner, yearning for what pieces of home he’d cobbled together with them. 

He didn’t look up at first, focused on the tiled floor. He was waiting for someone. Her, maybe. Izuru, probably. Their king spent more time in her rooms than his own, and she usually ended up in the coldest receiving room if she was taking care of official business. Nevertheless, he looked up, glad enough to see her. His smile widened, and she could see his shoulders unslump even from the doorway. There was a time when that would have stopped her dead, to see him glad at the sight of her. There was a time he wouldn’t have been.

“Your Grace,” Gin greeted her from the loveseat, making no move to stand, as some might say he should. She smiled back at him and leaned against the doorframe.

“Hello, Captain.” He was dressed more simply than usual, the coat and formal trappings of his uniform elsewhere. He seemed almost pedestrian, clad vulnerably in a simple white shirt, deep blue trousers, thick black boots. Despite this, his sword still hung at his side, ever-loyal. Shinso only left him in bed, and even then she lay beside them on the floor. Within arm’s reach. That worried most people, even in rumor, even in story. A man with a fox’s face whose sword was held closer than a lover. Poetic, yes, but also fearful and strange. He never stopped smiling, never stopped watching, all ice and quicksilver and blood. But Gin was sweet, in his own, cruel way, and that shifting metal held all the softness close to his chest. A part of her was comforted by it- Gin wouldn’t be Gin without his cold eyes and pale steel. That part of her was much larger than it used to be. She still hadn’t moved, and he watched her watch him. He was very still, himself- unmoving but not stiff, quiet but not silent. Smiling. She pushed off the wall and walked forward until their knees touched. He looked up at her and she let her hands drift to the sides of his face, thumbs stroking softly over his pale, scarred cheeks. “You look happy,” she said quietly, any coyness failing in the face of his genuine contentment. He nodded between her hands, tilting his head to kiss her palm.

“I get to be with you again, tonight,” he murmurs, hands leaving his lap to brush the sides of her thighs, tracing tickling lines down the backs of her knees. “I have the night off.”

“Izuru will be glad to hear it,” she replied, sliding one knee forward to rest on the red cushion beside his thigh. The velvet of it was soft. Plush and rich, and it sank under her. His right hand wrapped warm and certain around her thigh, helping her balance, taking some of the weight. His knees opened, slipped to either side of hers, bringing her even closer to him. “He’s missed you dearly,” she whispered into his lips, before he pressed them to hers, wanting. He tilted his head, lips parting. She sighed. Her hands fell to his shoulders, and though she knew she leaned on him heavily, he bore the weight. Gin kissed her carefully, sometimes, gently, as if he was holding back so much of himself to keep her safe. This wasn’t like that. This was nothing like that. He broke away, mouth trailing instead to the corner of her lips, where he pressed a shorter, sweeter kiss. Then the edge of her jaw, lingering. Hungry. He nosed at the soft skin under her jaw, marked a path with his mouth to the side of her neck as her head tilted farther and farther back.

“Tonight we’ll try again,” she murmured, and he hummed a lewd little noise into her skin. 

“You sure you want me to stay, then?” He asked, and though he was smiling- well. He was always smiling. That didn’t mean he was glad. His right hand slid up her leg, slipping beneath her skirts and following the line of her garter to tease at the crease between her hip and her thigh. She shivered, pressing further forward. High up, hidden beneath the heat of her skirts, he rubbed a thumb over the split of her folds, feeling the wetness there even through her shift and stockings. She could feel his breath slow over her skin. “Gin,” she said, reproachful but fond. Her hands tangled in his soft, fine hair, and his mouth opened in a foxlike grin against her throat. 

“I used to think you didn’t want me,” he mused, smugness creeping into his voice. His fingers dragged, agonizingly slow, light and tempting over the wet fabric, her wet flesh. “I don’t think even you could deny it now.”

“You’re a terrible tease, Captain,” she told him, more than a touch of teasing in her own voice. At the sound of his title, his fingers stalled, and his hand rested on her thigh. 

“Someone has to be,” he said, trying for the same good humor as before but falling just a little short. Her fingers stroked soothingly through his hair, softer and more slowly than before. She leaned back, just a little, and tilted his face up to look at her.

“What is it?” She asked, and his smile quirked up on one side. He leaned forward again, and she let him, his face warm against her skin, arms curled up around her waist. He fancied he could hear her heart, just faintly, wrapped up in his arms.

“No matter how much of a romantic our king may be,” the Captain whispered, nose pressing into her neck. “You know it has to be his, don’t you? You know I can’t stay, tonight, not if you’re trying to-” He trailed off, lips soft, and trembling a little on her throat. Her eyes closed against the light, just for a moment, bracing herself against it. She knew. They both did, and even if Izuru wanted to believe otherwise, she thought perhaps he did, too. It ached, the knowing. She could feel it in Gin, too, the careful way he held her for that moment. He pressed a kiss to her pulse, the vein where her heartbeat thundered against his lips. “At least the first one does.”

“First?” She laughed, some of their shared sadness pushed away. There was a future in those words, and it comforted her. If Gin, fatalistic and resolutely realistic about their situation, believed in the future, then perhaps there was hope. Her palms were warm against his chest, her knee at home beside his thigh. “Are you so set on there being a second?”

“Mmmhm,” Gin smiled into the dip of her collarbones, let his exposed teeth graze the ridges. “Maybe even a third,” he murmured playfully. Her laughter echoed warmly in his ears, and his hands came to rest on her hips, the fond curve of his eyes tilted to meet hers. “If you can bear it,” he said, more quietly. “If you want it.” She pulled back, and he looked at her ruefully, a touch of resignation in his smile.

“I want it,” she told him gently, earnestly, pushing soft silver hair back behind his ears. “I want it all.” He nodded.

“No one will question it,” she murmured, and though there was truth in it, it was more than a little bit of a lie.

“They might,” he said, thumbs rubbing into her skin, hot circles so deep she felt they might bruise.

“They wouldn’t have the chance, and you know it,” she insisted.

“Because I’m fucking the King?” He asked slyly, 

“Because he loves you,” she corrected him. “And because I do.”

“Do what?” He asked mockingly, and she pushed a gentle hand over his mouth, shaking her head.

“Love you,” she snorted. “Though why, I couldn’t say.” His teeth scratched playfully at her fingers, followed by the heat of his tongue, and she pulled her hand back, laughing as he grinned slyly up at her. 

“I have hidden talents,” he suggested, and a wriggle of his finger over her clit had her gasping.

“They’re not hidden if you pull them out every time we’re alone,” she told him.

“Then they’re just talents, aren’t they? Anything to please my Queen,” He crooned, his left hand wrapping around her knee and pulling her onto his lap before she could realize he’d taken all of her weight. The closeness pushed her further within his reach. His goal, clearly, but one she couldn’t say she was upset about. He reached under her shift, her thighs and her garters brushing against his hand as he moved. At reaching bare skin, he sighed and opened his mouth against her neck. His teeth weren’t sharp, like the rumors said, but flat and smooth against her skin, biting violet crescents into her shoulder, her collarbone. He was slow, coaxing, and he kept his hand between her legs to tease and ply little whimpers from her even as he left patterns of his mouth on her skin.

“Gin-“ she tried to stop him, halfhearted and perfunctory, but he drew his mouth down, down to the layers of linen and silk over her nipple and stopped there. His mouth was warm and unrelenting, and the heat of spit soaking in, reaching the softness of her breast, made her cheeks burn. She pressed him closer, hands weak with arousal and sensation but still twisted in his hair, and he obliged. Sucking, lapping, biting hungrily at the raised bud of flesh beneath her clothes, he made her jerk and moan. Not content with that, he continued to push her closer and closer to sensitivity. Stroking lightly at the damp valley between her legs and pressing his fingers teasingly to her opening, wet skin dipping in with the barest pressure and making her choke out his name like a curse. Every touch was soft and certain, teasing. She could feel the heat of his breath on her breast, could feel his chest where it pressed forward against her stomach, his arm wound around her waist. He was thorough, working her up enough to make her feel, but never enough to let her come. He drew her back and forth over the edge until she began to sob, dry and gasping, into his shoulder. Her grip on his hair loosened, her hands falling limply to his back. His hand paused, moved to rest, wet and light on her hip.

“Aw, is it gettin’ to be too much for you, honeysuckle?” He asked, pulling away from her skin for the first time in what felt like centuries. His lips were rubbed pink by her dress, slick with spit, though she couldn’t see. “Your grace?” He asked again, more seriously, one hand lifting her chin away from him so he could see.

“You’d better hope Izuru gets here soon,” she mumbled tiredly, leaning forward to press her face into his grip. “He’d hate to miss all the fun.” He laughed, kissing her once on each cheek, and then bent to pay similar tribute to her other breast, letting the cold air torment the one he’d just left. She swayed a little, and he moved to hold her up, sweeping his hand from her waist to her knee, letting her lean on him of her own volition. She moaned softly, painfully, grasping weakly at his shoulders. He was unrelenting. Merciless and happily devoted in his service. Her mind lost touch with her body, a soft fog of sensation settling around her like a cloak. Just Gin, all over her, all blood and steel and soft laughter. 

And then another warm touch at her shoulder, soft hands sweeping down to twine around her waist, pulling her back to lean weakly against him. “Now, now, Gin,” Izuru’s voice came from by her ear, soft and gentle, like his arms around her waist, his chin pressing into her shoulder as he bent forward. His hair brushed lightly over her neck, his mouth quick and gentle on her jaw, where the bone became soft skin. “You can’t wear her out so early.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Gin agreed easily, looking up at his king with all the same hunger and love as he had fixed on her. “I just got a little impatient.” He smirked up at her and pressed a wet, heated kiss to the hollow of her throat. 

“You could never resist something sweet,” Izuru sighed happily, hands wandering, sweeping feather-lightly over her wet dress, her aching nipples, her burning skin. “And you are sweet enough, aren’t you, my love?”

“I try, dearest.” her voice was weak, too, strained with effort and shortness of breath, but there was a laugh in it, and both of them only pressed closer. Izuru leant just a little further, pressing his mouth to Gin’s, and she watched the softness of their kiss with a tired smile. “Perhaps you’d better help him,” she teased Gin, kissing his cheek as it flushed. Beneath those coppery freckles, his face had turned pink, and Izuru couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“Ungrateful,” Gin did his best to pout, but his customary smile bloomed unwillingly beneath the frown.

“Very grateful,” she corrected him honestly, pressing her face to his. “But I think I do need a moment.” She slipped from the loveseat on wavering legs, but Izuru promptly caught her and placed her beside Gin. “You’re too good to me,” she told Gin, and he raised an eyebrow at her, still grinning. Izuru looked between them, and she caught his eye. “Well, my dear husband,” she asked, smiling fondly. “Won’t you let him do his duty?”

“As you wish,” he said quietly, his eyelashes fluttering low as he looked down on Gin. She turned Gin’s head, just enough to kiss him, to taste her own perfume on his lips, orange blossoms and jasmine like summer, peeled from the silk of her dress like a kiss of its own. He swallowed, looking soft, looking vulnerable again, as if he was asking a question, and she nodded into the kiss. He nodded back, just once, and grasped her hands in his to kiss her again. They both flinched, just a little, at Izuru’s sharp inhale, and her hands slid to Gin’s waist with a kind of caution. The cool silver buckles, the smooth, supple black leather straps- Shinso was kept in prettier dress than the man himself. It made her smile, and he huffed a shy little laugh into her lips. The sword was heavy, for all its slim looks. Thin, and heavy, and beautiful. She laid it down between them, like a barrier, like a line. And Gin nodded again, taking his hands from her grasp and slipping from the velvet seat to sink to his knees, hands resting softly on the hardwood floor.

“Look up,” Izuru asked- begged, maybe, but kings don’t beg, not even with their lovers. Gin looked up, rose to a kneel instead of a crawl, and Izuru’s hand went to his face like a compulsion. It almost hurt to watch, the devotion on both of their faces, but more than that it felt right. It felt like something had fallen into place. Gin leaned into his touch, shuddering as if he was starved for it.

“Your Grace,” he murmured, one hand curling around Izuru’s knee, fingers light, as if waiting to be kicked away.

“None of that,” Izuru said, with a bit of huff in his voice. “Please, Gin.” Gin grinned, tilting his head into his king’s hand.

“Izuru,” he said pointedly. Mockingly. The other two just smiled. His long, clever fingers crept to Izuru’s waist, undoing the ties holding his belt, slipping open the folds of fabric and grasping Izuru’s cock in his hand. He let his grip slide, one long stroke from base to tip, and Izuru’s face slackened, tightened, twisted. “Did you like watching our little show, Izuru?”

“Shut up,” Izuru said, halfway between a fond smile and an ecstatic gasp. His hand went from gently cupping Gin’s face to making a tangling grip in his hair, holding him back, pushing him forward- holding him still as he took all of Izuru’s cock into his mouth. After a quick bob of his head and a long, long pull back, licking his lips, Gin grinned. He pressed a kiss to the slit at the very tip of his cock, and Izuru keened, his hips jerking forward.

“Make me,” Gin said, before lapping at the head with the flat of his tongue, his face shiny with spit and flush and the first few drops from Izuru’s cock. His own hands rested on Izuru’s hips, one higher than the other as if to get a better grip, a better angle, a better taste. Devotion, she thought fondly. Dedication. Enthusiasm. Izuru let out a strangled moan, his chest shuddering with the effort of holding it back. His hand pressed forward, tight and unrelenting, Gin’s face buried in the soft thatch of pale hair at the base of his cock. He stayed there for a moment, swallowing his own spit, Izuru’s cock leaking precome into his mouth, before Izuru pulled him back, grip on his hair strong enough to tug him back in forth in time with the shallow, rolling thrusts of his cock.

Gin breathed slow and deep, the soft rustle of his breath accompanied by the thick, wet noises Izuru made in his throat. His hands were so tight on Izuru’s hips that she could see the fabric caught in his fingers, the white of his knuckles against the flushed paleness of his skin.

“That’s it,” Izuru said into the silence, his breathing growing heavier with each thrust of his hips into Gin’s throat, each slide of his cock over Gin’s tongue, his rhythm stuttering every time Gin swallowed another mouthful of his salt. “Gin-” he began, but Gin pushed closer, deepthroating his cock one last time as Izuru came. The steady, constant sound of his swallowing was loud in the quiet left by Izuru’s held breath, and both of them came apart gasping, Izuru’s cock slipping soft and wet from Gin’s lips, a trail of spit and leftover come connecting them for a moment before it broke. The cold air and candlelight shone on Gin’s face, and Izuru’s cheeks were a soft red even in the shadow. Beautiful, she thought again, and when they both looked to her, eyes wide and dark, mouths half-open and hands flushed, she beckoned them closer.

Gin fell back onto the loveseat beside her, face a shining pink, his hair wet with sweat and come and spit. He was breathing heavily, and the bulge between his thighs was more obvious sitting than it was when he’d been on his knees. He slumped over, and she pulled his head into her lap, letting him stretch out over her thighs. They were both shaking, the two of them keyed up with nerves and arousal and proximity to each other, to Izuru. 

“How are you doing down there?” She asked softly, and he reached up with a limp hand to brush a knuckle down her cheek.

“The two ‘a you are going to pull my scalp raw,” Gin complained, grinning. He let his hand fall and reached up his other arm to Izuru, who leant obligingly over him.

“As if you don’t like it,” Izuru said fondly, kissing him. He broke away, still smiling, and kissed Gin’s forehead. “Thank you,” he said. Gin snorted, pulling him down for another, quicker kiss.

“For swallowing or for warming up your wife for you?” He asked, and Izuru’s eyes dimmed, just a little.

“You’re not staying?” He asked quietly, trying and failing to keep a thread of disappointment from his voice. She looked down, past Gin’s face, the truth of the matter returning to both of them. His words from before crept back into her mind, and she sighed, smoothing the hair from his face. Izuru watched, brow furrowed, pants undone. It would’ve been funny in any other circumstance.

“You’re trying for a kid,” Gin said quietly. “Can’t be mine.”

“You don’t have to go-”

“But don’t I?” Gin asked knowingly, tiredly. “‘f I stay, can you promise me we won’t end up where we always do?”

“Depends on the where,” she murmured, hoping for even the slightest trace of humor. It worked, a little, Gin’s smile growing just slightly less bitter. There was a pause, their thoughts loud in the quiet. Izuru staring sadly at the floor, her hands running softly through Gin’s hair, his eyelashes fluttering as if he couldn’t decide whether or not to open his eyes.

“I’m going to clean up,” he said, quietly, rising. “I’ll be back.”

“You’re alright?” Izuru asked, catching his arm gently as he passed. Gin nodded, grinning.

“I’m fine,” he said, and it almost sounded true. “But as much as I like you, I’m not too keen on tasting your cock for the next few hours. ‘specially if I’m not going to stick around.” Izuru let go of his arm, face red and lip caught between his teeth. Gin’s laugh echoed behind him as he slipped into the bathroom. The door clicked politely behind him.

“He’s not fine,” Izuru said quietly, looking at the floor. “None of this is fine.” She stood, wincing at the movement of fabric over her sensitive skin. “I’m sorry,” he said to her, looking up. “I’m sorry, I-“

“You need to stop blaming yourself,” she murmured, reaching up to cup his face in her hand. “We all knew it had to happen this way.” The words came out even, though her face twisted painfully.

“Gin has always wanted to be a father,” Izuru said harshly. “He’s always wanted children.” His voice broke into something softer, something regretful.

“Izuru, it’s not your fault.”

“No, it’s not. But both of you- both of you want it in a way I don’t.” Izuru shook his head, turning away, then back. “It seems cruel that I should take this chance from you. And for what- a throne? The crown? It’s not fair,” he whispered fiercely. “He’s always wanted a family and I have to- it isn’t fair.”

“We have time,” she said, hands falling to her sides. Izuru sighed and reached out in apology. “We have more time.”

“It’s just not fair,” he repeated, fingers gentle where they wrapped around hers. The door opened behind him. 

“‘S not about fair,” Gin said quietly, looping one arm around Izuru’s waist and leaning down to kiss his temple. “You need a kid.” He sighed, lightly but deeply. “You need an heir. Both of you. So nobody can separate you.”

“Not just for that,” she said quietly, letting go of Izuru’s hand to wrap her arms up around her middle. As if in defense, as if to protect protect it. “We wouldn’t- we don’t want a child as a pawn.” Izuru reached out again and pulled her to his chest, letting Gin’s other arm curl under hers, into her hair. The three of them tangled together, like one mass of thorns and roses. 

“No,” Gin agreed. “As parents.”

“Please stay,” Izuru murmured, and Gin nodded slowly into his neck. “Be with us, please.”

“It has to be yours,” he replied, smile resigned and soft where it hid in Izuru’s hair. “I know that. I don’t mind it.” He nestled closer, his hand gentle, stroking lightly at her neck. 

“You could-“ Izuru started, defeat already in his voice. “The two of you-“

”We couldn’t,” Gin said easily, smile wide on his face. “I know how you’d feel if it was mine. I know you’d care for them, whatever they were like. But you’d be alone in that, both of you. You don’t know how everyone would talk, not really, would want it gone. They’d call you a fool if you cared for it, all of ‘em, they’d say you didn’t know, that it should be thrown away.” The story poured from his lips, as cruel and sweet as he could make it. He wanted it, even as he despised it, wanted the three of them to be bound forever, all gentle hands and soft smiles and laughter shaking away the rest of the world. But it couldn’t be like that. Not really.

“I-” Izuru’s face was twisted up, something mournful in it, something painful. She couldn’t break away, neither of them could, trapped in a soft glimmer of future with him. He could see it, all the rumors and talk, all the love in their faces, spread before him like it could happen. But he knew better. The memory of Aizen’s cold eyes and soft voice asking for Izuru’s heart choked him, kept him talking, made sure he burned apart his own dreams. 

“They’d mock you for it, a King whose heir was a low-born soldier’s bastard. Or worse, they’d kill ‘em themselves for love of you. Leave my child split apart and bloody in the woods to die. They’d sooner hang them then bow.” The other two shook, aching with the truth of it, and Gin held them closer. 

“You wouldn’t treat them like an outsider, though,” Gin continued. His fingers stroked over Izuru’s hip, the curve of her neck, contemplative. Lost in thought. “You’d be good to them. Like they were your own, I know that. But a child of mine could never take the throne, no matter how fiercely you defended them.” There was a tenderness in his face, a want. “Something would give ‘em away. Their eyes’d be too green, their smile’d be too wide, their hair too grey-”

“Silver,” Izuru said roughly, the correction as fierce and sudden as something breaking. 

“They’d cause too much trouble,” Gin reminded him cheerfully. “They’d be a bother like me. All spit and blood and nothing good in them at all.” Despite his words, his face was still soft, his voice full of love. 

“They’d be perfect,” she said quietly, and Izuru nodded silently, swallowing. Gin sighed and shook his head and leaned into Izuru to press a kiss to her cheek.

“Maybe next time,” he murmured, and she bit her lip.

“But you-”

“I’ll be around,” he said cheekily, but the two of them relaxed to hear it, sank just a little into each other, softer at the knowledge that he wouldn’t leave them. It hurt him to see it. It was worse, knowing he’d have to follow Aizen one day. “I don’t plan on leaving the two of you. Not until you make me go.” He meant it, or he wished he did, which was almost the same in the end.

“I’d never,” Izuru said, hands closing harder around fistfuls of their clothes. “Both of you, you’re- I can’t do this without you.”

“Well it’d be awfully difficult for you to have a baby alone-“ Gin joked, and she couldn’t stop herself from laughing, even if it did sound more like a sob. Izuru let his mouth close, smiling.

“You could rule alone,” she said quietly, smile fading into a sad stretch of the lips, cool and forlorn. “Without us, you’re just as strong.” He shook his head, smile leaving him.

“I don’t want to know what I’d be without both of you,” Izuru said, swallowing. “Without me, you’d both be- you’d be fine. But-“

“I know what I’d be.” Gin didn’t look at either of them, eyes closed more tightly than usual, face distant, smile twisted bitterly around his lips. “It’s not pretty.” It won’t be pretty, he didn’t say.

“You’re always pretty,” Izuru murmured. It was enough to win him a smile, and Gin nodded. “Please stay,” Izuru asked. Gin looked between them, teeth clenched behind his grin, all of his loyalties flaring up at once, all of his mind burning between them, their child, Aizen, Rangiku, his child, the throne, his duties- both of his duties-

“Stay,” she asked, echoing her husband, palm flat to his chest. He fancied for a moment that perhaps she could feel his traitor heart, thrumming like a hummingbird at their touch, slamming hard enough on his ribs to break them, aching to be close to them. He sighed, and kissed the shell of her ear, right beside where his chin rested on her shoulder.

“I’ll stay,” he agreed, letting his eyes flutter further closed. Sweet defeat lay heavy on his shoulders, all the trouble he saw coming conquering him despite his best efforts. “I’ll stay for tonight, and every night after that you’ll have me.”

“Every night,” Izuru said lowly, turning in Gin’s grasp, the loop of his arm, pressing kisses to his neck and undoing the first few buttons of his shirt. “Every night that you’re here, and every night that you aren’t. We’ll always want you.”

“Mmm you’ll change your tune once you’ve got a baby or two,” Gin teased him, fingers dancing over his hip, curling lovingly over his waist. “You’ll be so full of love for them you won’t have room for anyone else. It’s how all parents are.”

“And you, too,” she murmured, rubbing a thumb over his cheek. “You’ll be right there with us.” She paused, though, hesitant, rethinking. “If you want to be, that is.” He caught her hand before it left his face and kissed her fingertips. He did that more and more often, he knew. Gave them more sweetness than he used to, knowing his time with them would be cut short, knowing he’d soon lose the chance to speak to them, let alone kiss her hand, touch Izuru’s cheek, to put his hands between her legs and pull her apart like candy floss. Knowing he’d soon lose the right.

“I do,” he said, almost sadly. “I want it all.”

“You can have it,” Izuru murmured, kissing the corner of his jaw. The two of them were wound up close to him, arms warm on his body and eyes soft. It would have been a struggle not to give in even if he hadn’t wanted to, but he did, and oh, that made it worse. There was something narcotic about it, letting two people with so much power wield it over him so gently. So warmly. Their hands were certain and leading, pulling him to the bed and pushing him to sit on its edge. She was still disheveled from before, and he felt the ghost of lace on his lips as she ran her hands down her sides to where the laces of her stays were tied. In a moment, she’d left them on a chair in a swirl of cream and gold, shoulders bared and thin underskirts fluttering around her ankles. Izuru was still undoing the buttons of his waistcoat, and Gin had to stop a genuine smile at the way she sighed and smacked his hands away to do it for him.

“You, of all people, should know better,” she muttered, easily ridding him of the heavy brocade. “It’s not like you’ve never dressed yourself.”

“Usually I’m not the one undressing myself,” he reminded her, and she gave him a look like an unimpressed cat. 

They were so much more than he’d dreamed of having. It seemed a thousand years ago, sometimes, everything before this. Them. Izuru, cold and kind and everything he’d ever yearned for, her, soft and reassuring, unexpected and wry, both of them steely and beautiful in the faint candlelight. Both of them his, and he theirs, tangled together and happily so. Sometimes he wished it could last. Sometimes he wanted it to end, bitter and bloody and broken. 

He wanted to let it all go, break them apart and leave this burning like a star in his wake. The part of him that ached to hurt them, to shatter his happiness, was restrained. Tempered by small cruelties and smaller kindness, reined in with the knowledge that he’d lose it all forever again, no matter what. The certainty that he’d tear them apart kept him from doing it, but he felt their blood on his hands, tasted their screams on his lips, smelled the smoke of their souls whispering into the sky. He dreamed of them dying in his arms and woke half-hard and wet-eyed. He dreamed of them bleeding under his mouth and woke with his teeth aching to sink into their skin. He kissed them instead, feather-soft and lighter than sunrise, and he prayed it was enough to keep his vicious heart satisfied.

She came in close again, just as she had in her office, fingertips gentle and cool on his temples, lifting his face to kiss him, to press her teeth to his and bite his lip. He let his hands creep up her thighs, bunching her skirts, lifting them measure by measure until he could slip his hands under them and hold her thighs. Izuru held back, undoing the (apparently less difficult) buttons of his shirt, watching them hungrily as she rested a knee on his thigh and leaned over him. Her hands were light on his neck at first, smoothing down over his chest, back up to his shoulders. Her fingers crept to his collar, starched white, sharp corners and perfect folds. Regulation. She rubbed a thumb over the knot of the bow, shiny black and thinner than a finger’s width. The pressure there increased, and he felt a jolt of adrenaline as his head went light under her hands. She let go, quickly undoing the knot at his top button, watching the flush of red leave his face. In one movement, she pulled the thin ribbon from Gin’s collar. She slowed as she moved, lips brushing softly over his, wet and spreading, her fingers unhooking each small, aluminum button from it’s sleeve, her mouth heated and slick with just a prick of blood. He grasped her chin and pulled back for half a breath to lick it from her mouth, to swallow his own blood and grin at her.

“Back for more?” He asked smugly. She quirked an eyebrow at him and undid the last button before she hit his belt, spreading the two halves of his shirt and exposing his chest to the cold air. 

“Well, someone tired us both out,” she said playfully, tugging his belt from its buckle. “I felt it was only fair to return the favor.”

“If I recall correctly, you never did get to the good part,” he reminded her. She smiled knowingly.

“Who said I was going to let you come?” She asked quietly, her breath warm where it hit his cheeks. A hand on his chest was all the warning he got before she pressed him back into the bed. “You deserved a taste of your own medicine,” she said, her weight heavy where it shifted over his hips to his stomach. She knelt over him on the bed, dark hair curtaining them, whispering over the sheets. “Maybe I’ll do what I like with you this time, leave you to take care of things yourself.”

“You’ve been avoiding us lately,” Izuru said, each slow step leading him to where the two of them sprawled over the bed. “You argued with us when we asked you to stay, took liberties with your Queen and then refused to follow through.” Izuru looked down on him, two fingers carelessly pushing Gin’s hair from his eyes. As steely as his words were, as cold as his face looked, there was a sweet fondness in his eyes. Warmth in his voice. “You’re nothing but trouble.” His fingers dragged down Gin’s cheek, slipping lightly over his skin until they reached his mouth. Gin’s mouth opened, obedient and needy, his eyes closed and wet with sweat and tears caught in his eyelashes. “Maybe we should punish you.” Gin’s pupils were dilated, his legs spread where she perched between them, lips parting around Izuru’s fingers as she wrapped a firm, cool hand around his neck. Izuru’s skin tasted like salt, deep to the back of his tongue and into his throat. Salt and copper, and the bitter metal of ink on his fingertips, but Gin lapped and swallowed and sucked because they were a part of his King, offered to him, and he’d never refuse Izuru.

“Maybe we should,” she said, stroking the side of his neck. The smooth back and forth of her thumb kept his pulse high, kept him calm like a lamb for slaughter. He nearly choked when she moved her hand to rest over Izuru’s, the thin wall of his throat pressed gently between their fingers. Her hand moved down to his chest, and he could breathe easily, soft fingers tracing his scars. Izuru slipped his wet fingers from Gin’s mouth and cupped his chin with them, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Gin held his breath.

It wasn’t anything they did, really, so much as his own doubt, but he balked. He stopped. The situation crashed down on him again, their purpose, his place, the vulnerability, the exposure- he felt afraid. He felt panicked, almost, lost in all the things happening. He shook his head, hands twitching where they lay on the bed. “Gin?” She asked, the high, arrogant note in her voice gone, replaced by care, concern. Her hands went to his cheeks, and Izuru knelt, face close to his. “Gin, are you alright?” There was gentleness in their voices, and he nodded slowly. 

“Closer,” he murmured. “Want you closer.” She leaned forward, face pressed into the sheets behind his shoulder, chest pressed to his, knees scrunched up close to the insides of his thighs. There was still so much fabric between them, and though Izuru’s hands carded through his hair, he couldn’t feel any more of him. Her hands rested on his sides, warm and heavy. “Closer,” he begged, and he reached up for Izuru, who caught his hand. “Please.” She straightened up once more, and slid off of the bed to tug off her silk skirts and the bracers pinning her spine to straightness. She bent to undo her garters, letting her stockings slip from her legs, and Gin keened painfully at being left alone. Izuru kissed his fingertips, laying his hand back down by his side. She stepped out of them and climbed onto the bed again, the thick ribbons of her garters still in her hand.

“Shhh,” she murmured, settling once more between his thighs. “I’m here, starlight. I’m right here.” 

“Please,” he begged, leaning up on his elbows to try and reach her.

“Will you hold this for me?” She asked, and he nodded eagerly. She ran a thumb over the thin seam of his lips, and when they parted she slid a thumb into the corner, slipping the ribbon behind his head and tying a knot in his open mouth. “Bite down,” she said, and he did, face full of the need to please. She tied a bow over the knot, just to be safe, just because it looked so lovely held in his mouth like that. Her hands at his chin were warm, her eyes hungry looking down at his face. Izuru pulled him back down, flat to the bed. 

“Hold still,” he ordered, and pulled Gin’s wrists up, over his head. The exposure was calming, in a way. His muscles clenched at the cold, his nipples pebbling and body shifting as if to escape it. Izuru’s grasp was steady and immovable on his wrists, voice like steel in his ear. “I said hold still,” he said quietly, and something in Gin settled, his mind soft-edged and clear of worry. He forgot Aizen, in the feeling of her hands on his boots, his belt, the clasps of his trousers. He forgot everything he was, sank deep into want and need and obedience, submission and a raw, pleasurable need to give-

“There we are, starlight,” Izuru murmured, and Gin turned his head so he could see his face. Izuru was smiling, hands a little looser on his wrists. “Now she can reach you. Whether she wants to, however…..” He said teasingly, and Gin let a soft, pained sound break through the gag. His eyes were tight and desperate, and Izuru regretted it immediately. “Oh, vixen, I was just joking.” She finished putting his clothes with theirs, and perched on the bed between his legs.

“We wouldn’t do that to you, Gin,” she reassured him, moving her hands gently up and down his thighs. “You deserve better than that.” Izuru nodded, face tight with regret.

“I promise I didn’t mean it. We’d never leave you wanting. Not after you’ve been away so long, not after you were so good to both of us.” He pulled a hand from his wrists to stroke Gin’s hair, and the way he leaned into the touch only made Izuru feel worse. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. Gin nodded into his hand.

“We’ll show you,” she said, resting a hand on his stomach. “We’ll make you feel good.” She did something then, with her hands, and Gin groaned, breathing heavily through the gag she’d made. “Shhh,” she cooed, sounding eerily like him for a moment. “It’ll be better.” Izuru looked down the length of Gin’s body to where his cock jutted upwards, flushed and weeping, and tied off at the base with the silk of her garter, gold thread and embroidery glimmering in the firelight, the scattered warmth of the candles. Izuru had to fight back a groan of his own. She descended on him, then, pressing kisses to his stomach, biting crescents into his thighs, stroking one hand up and down his cock until it was throbbing in her hand. 

“You want more?” Izuru asked, face so close to Gin’s he could feel his soft huffs of breath. Gin nodded, jerking, still letting loose small groans. “Wait for it,” Izuru told him. She opened her mouth around the soft, burning head of his cock, and Gin’s gasping, shuddering breaths only got louder as she took more of him into her mouth. Up and down, deeper and deeper into her throat. He tried, occasionally, to thrust into her mouth, but her hands were firm and pressed his hips down, burning handprints on his icy body. He felt nothing and everything, but most of all he felt her mouth, Izuru’s hands. His world narrowed down to two sensations, two voices, and pleasing them. Both of them noticed, his mouth hanging open just a little, his whole body limp and shaking.

“Soon,” she said quietly, and Izuru nodded, rubbing his thumb over Gin’s wrist. She slipped her mouth over his cock again, and the heat of her tongue after the ice of the air made Gin whine. She bobbed her head, pulling off entirely any time he seemed close to coming, running a careful finger under the shining bond of her other garter around the base of his cock. He shook and thrust into the air, unsatisfied, unfulfilled, unmoored. And then when he quieted, sobbing, she’d return to him. She sucked, swallowed, stroked- building and building and always stopping whenever he seemed too near the edge. The next time she pulled away, Gin wailed, the sound a special kind of agony.

“Shhh,” Izuru said, a small smile on his lips. His grip on Gin’s wrists tightened, and Gin struggled ecstatically, whimpering through the gag and bucking his hips into her hands. “So eager,” he said, half a false sneer and half a fond remark. “Where’d all that self-control go?” She pressed a soft kiss to base of his cock, just under her garter, and tasted the salt of his precome, the sweat of effort. Her hand tightened at the juncture of his shaft and his sack, the pressure just enough to keep his climax at bay. Despite his desperation, he could only writhe between them, Izuru’s mouth hot and heavy on his neck, his shoulders, the soft rosy splay of freckles down his chest, hers wet and wanting on his cock, his hips, leaving berry-blood marks on his thighs. “Enough,” Izuru told him, and the command in his voice settled Gin, eyes glassy and chest heaving. He untied the bow between Gin’s teeth, wet with spit and worn with effort. His thumbs traced the red lines at the corners of Gin’s mouth, smoothing away the ache. “What do you have to say?” He asked expectantly.

“Please,” he gasped. He stretched, arched, pushed into Izuru’s hands, looking up at him with squirming, needy rapture. “Please, Izuru-“ 

“Your Grace,” he murmured into Gin’s ear, smiling. “Address me appropriately, Captain.” The shattered moan that left Gin’s mouth was high, keening. Izuru fought back satisfaction.

“Please, Your Grace,” he breathed, begged.

“Would you like to come?” Izuru asked, as quietly as ever. He sounded distant, uninterested. Gin nodded dazedly, head spinning, heart pounding. He looked drunk, his eyes open, dark with dilation. His lips were flushed, as if they’d been painted pink, his skin tender and blotched with both of their mouths, their teeth, their fingertips and the burn of their sucking like leeches off of his sweetness. Izuru looked down at her, and she nodded. “She’ll let you come soon,” he whispered, one hand tight and bruising around Gin’s wrists, the other splayed over his sharp ribs. “She’ll take whatever you have left to give, and she’ll swallow you down.” His hand crept down Gin’s chest to the stretch of skin between stomach and cock, and he let his palm spread wide, let the heat of his grasp sink into Gin’s cold skin. “Would you like that?” He asked, mouth pressed up close to Gin’s ear by stretch and hunger. “To be used up and drained? To be emptied out entirely?” Gin nodded, the thought alone making him dizzy.

“Please,” Gin breathed, voice so full of want that it made Izuru’s stomach clench. “Take me. All of me.” She kissed his thigh, let her fingers rub soft, comforting patterns into the hollows of his hips, the jagged, empty parts of him. Her eyes were dark and hungry slivers, and Gin trembled to see them. She smiled, blinked once, and let his cock slip into her mouth, farther and farther, deeper and deeper. Her lips spread wide and soft around him, and Gin arched back into her mouth, hips rising. She swallowed him so deeply it made Izuru breathe more heavily, made his own cock stir, made him want more. She hummed faintly, the vibrations raising a sharp moan in Gin’s throat.

“Beautiful,” Izuru murmured, twisting his hand in Gin’s hair. His neck was arched back, forced to meet Izuru’s gaze, watch as his King’s blue eyes softened, to listen to the words pulled from his mouth. “You’re a beautiful thing. I thought I’d lost my mind the first time I saw you, all starlight hair and the ocean in your eyes. And your smile. Your spirit. So strong,” he pressed a thumb into Gin’s cheek, swept it under the sliver of Gin’s eye. “So gentle. So kind.” Gin’s heart rattled and shook in his chest, cracking and blooming and expanding under so much pressure, so much love and pleasure and kindness. “But you’re more than beauty. You’re the bravest man I know,” Izuru whispered, kissing his forehead, stroking the silver scars glimmering over his ribs. “The most loyal.” Gin let out a gasp, dry and empty, full of agony. “You never falter when you’re certain. You’re graceful,” Izuru said, every scrap of praise paired with the warmth of her mouth as she suckled at his cock, lapped the fluid from his slit. “I watched you dance, watched you fight. I thought of how your hands would feel on my skin.” She fisted Gin’s shaft and pulled her mouth off of it to slip his balls into her mouth. First one, then the other, and the faint suction made Gin whimper in Izuru’s arms. She swallowed him down once more, and he could feel the pressure, the agony of it being held off. He could feel his climax build behind the dam of her fingers, the scrape of her garter where she held it. “Your heart is true,” Izuru said, kissing his cheek, kissing his palms where they lay trapped between Izuru’s hands. “Your heart is ours,” he whispered, and her fingers unclasped from around his cock, pulling the garter away with them. It was agony. It was wonderful. Gin came with a low, painful moan, spilling hot and forceful over her tongue, jerking into her mouth, into Izuru’s grasp, wrung out and stripped of his usual defenses. He blinked lazily, groaning as she drank him down, hands heavy and warm on his hips. Izuru looked greedily into his eyes. Gin’s eyes opened widely when he came, they’d found, and they cherished his pleasure not only for its own sake, but for the glimpses of softness and shining blue they saw in the afterglow. The sweet, unguarded moments of affection he’d give them, tired and happy.

“That’s it,” she said, swallowing the last of his seed. All salt and skin on her tongue, she kissed the tip of his cock, then his hipbone. “Sweet boy,” she murmured, brushing sweat-damp hair from his eyes, easing herself up to lie beside him. He turned his head to kiss her hand, and she leaned forward to kiss him back. Slow, lighter than a brush of lips on lips, and long, she leaned into the kiss and stayed there. Izuru’s hand crept to her hair and pulled it back behind her, leaving her shoulders and Gin’s clear. Gin’s shirt was damp, the white a clear dove-grey where he’d sweated through it. It looked warm. It looked uncomfortable. Izuru began tugging it gently down his arms, and she helped pull Gin’s arms back through the sleeves, limp and happy and cooperative as he was. “There we go,” she said, hands warm on his shoulders. “Cool down.”

“Love you,” Gin murmured, hands reaching limply for both of them. Izuru took his hand and kissed it, pressing his face into Gin’s back. His forehead fit perfectly into the crevice between Gin’s shoulder blades, still heated and sweat-slick. She took his hand between her own and kissed his forehead, stroking his hair.

“Love you, too,” Izuru said into his spine. One finger crept up, tracing nonsense and sweet circles into Gin’s skin, Gin’s spine. She kept running her fingers through his hair, the two of them grounding him as he drifted slowly back to earth. 

“I was good?” He asked, drowsily, blinking, reaching up to hold her hand.

“You were perfect,” she whispered, pushing a lock of hair from his eyes. “You were so good for us.” Izuru nodded into his back, arms looping low around his waist to pull him closer. 

“Were we good?” Izuru asked, and Gin nodded slowly, tiredly. “Really?” He nodded again, petulantly.

“You don’t believe me?” He asked. Izuru shook his head.

“Just want to be sure,” he said. His voice was small, a little lost. “I want you to be happy.”

“‘M happy,” Gin said, smiling slow and small, the kind of smile that was real. “I’m so happy.” One long-fingered hand curled over Izuru’s at his waist. “You’re everything,” he said, to one of them, neither, both. “You make me happier’n I’ve ever been.”

“Good,” she said, perhaps too strongly. She blushed and tried again, clearer. “That’s all we want, Gin. You understand that, don’t you? We love you. I love you.”

“Love you,” he murmured back, pressing his nose into her shoulder to hide his face. “Love you both.” Izuru, smiling, kissed his shoulder. He caught her eye, and they both found what they were looking for.

“Shall we?” He asked, and she nodded slowly. 

“It’ll be strange,” she said slowly. He looked down, at Gin’s soft, tired face. At his back, pink with lines from where his shirt and the sheets had pressed in. At the way he held them both close, however awkwardly.

“It will,” he agreed sadly. “But-“

“But neither of you can make a baby with me,” Gin said, voice muffled by the pillows. “You made me tired anyway, so just get to it. I’ll… catch up later.” It startled a short laugh out of her, and Izuru smiled into his back. 

“You’ll catch up faster if you watch,” he suggested slyly, and Gin groaned.

“You’re the one who likes watching,” he mumbled, waving a hand at them both. “I’ll… wake up later.” She pulled his arm away from his face to kiss his cheek, laughing.

“Love you, too,” she murmured, and he nodded.

“Know,” he muttered. “Get on with it.”

She rolled over, onto her back, and Izuru slipped off of the bed to reach her without bodily climbing over Gin. She watched him walk over with a fond little half-smile, and he ducked his head, as if embarrassed.

“Hello,” he said, smiling. She smiled back, leaning up to meet him for a kiss halfway.

“Hello,” she replied, and he felt so soft that he kissed her again. When they broke apart, Izuru hovered over her, his trousers still annoyingly present. She huffed, hands immediately going to the button at his waist, tugging them open and shoving them down his legs before he knew what was happening. “Wait,” he laughed, “let me-“

“Get them off,” she ordered him. “I am- I’m very cross with you. You should be naked by now like the rest of us.”

“I’m the King,” he teased her, stepping out of the pool of fabric and tossing them onto the chair where she’d put the rest of his clothes. “I get to keep my pants on longer.”

“Oh, is that what that means?” She snorted, crooking a finger at him. “Get over here, your highness. I think you have a problem.” 

“Yes, Your Grace,” he agreed, climbing back into the bed. “At your service.”

“I’m fairly certain it’s meant to be the other way around,” she said, before he kissed her. He laid her down, one hand on her waist and the other pressed to the bed, kneeling over her. They kept kissing, Gin thought. Like the newlyweds they no longer were. 

“You sure you don’t want to join us?” Izuru asked him, breaking away to look over, a little hopeful. Gin raised one eyebrow at them and propped himself up, resting his chin on his palm.

“You gonna show me anything good?” He asked cheekily.

“Oh, only the best,” she reassured him, and he snorted. Izuru smiled into her neck, teeth scraping, hand creeping down between her legs to press up into her. “Oh-“ she gasped, grasping his elbow. “Izuru.”

“Just checking,” he said, pulling his fingers up to his mouth. “I think you’ll be alright, don’t you?” He asked, scissoring his fingers so she could see the fluid, sticky between them.

“You have been a terrible influence,” she told Gin mock-seriously. “He used to be afraid to touch me. Look what you’ve done.”

“I’d call it an improvement,” Gin quipped, eyeing Izuru’s fingers with appreciation as he sucked them clean. “You’re no fragile flower,” he reminded her. “You really want him to treat you like you’re gonna break?”

“You’re right,” she hummed, grinning at Izuru and leaning back on her elbows. “I think I’d rather he broke me.” Izuru choked.

“You’re more likely to break him,” Gin chuckled, tugging on the end of her hair. “Look at his little red face. Like a virgin.”

“I’m not-“ Izuru began, flustered, and only flushed further when Gin laughed again.

“Oh, I know that,” he said warmly. He chucked a knuckle under Izuru’s chin. “It’s just cute that you can still be shy about things.”

“It’s very endearing,” she agreed, tilting her head to look at him properly. “We don’t mean to make you self-conscious.”

“Yes, you do,” Izuru said blandly.

“I do,” Gin agreed.

“I don’t!” She said, turning red herself. Gin just laughed, and Izuru groaned, pressing his forehead into her shoulder.

“Get to it, babymakers,” Gin waved them off, flipping over. “The way you’re talking, you’ll be having kids in thirty years.”

“I hate you,” she said dryly as Izuru pushed her back down flat. He just waved over his shoulder.

“Ignore him,” Izuru laughed, kissing her temple. “It’ll be alright.”

“I hope so,” she said, mock-seriously. “At the very least. I’d regret marrying a man who couldn’t even make it alright-“

“Fine,” he said, exasperated. “It’ll be good. Is that enough for you?” She nodded, giving him a peck on the lips. He spread his thighs further, and she could feel the heat of his cock on her thigh, tempting and reigniting her urgency.

“Come on,” she whispered into his lips. “Let’s make it good.” His mouth moved, almost a smile, and he slid into her, hot and slick, the drag of flesh on flesh making them both groan. She could feel her muscles give way, loosening as she relaxed into his movement. He was always just a bit thicker than she expected, and the friction ached in her core. It could be inconvenient, but the sting only made the pleasure of it sweeter. Sheathed in her, he paused, and he caught his breath in the space between their faces. 

“Good?” He asked, and she nodded, leaning up to kiss him. He didn’t break the kiss, even as he moved. Slowly, evenly. He pulled out of her, painstakingly smooth. There was a moment where he hovered, wet and warm at her entrance, Head barely held between her folds, teasing at her nerves, keeping her on edge- before he thrust back in, a long roll of his hips that sent her nerves reeling. He hit the base of something, and she gasped, arched back into the sheets, and he bent to catch one of her nipples between his teeth, to suck, to bite, to lick. Her hands went to his hair, fisted in the soft gold there. Everything became fragments, details- the feeling of him as his cock moved, the brush of his chest over her stomach, her ribs, her breasts.

“So good,” she breathed, and he thrust in again, setting an even, steady rhythm. His mouth was insistent, finishing what Gin had started, leaving her nipples bruised violet and her breasts spattered with teeth marks. She could feel her nerves building, his rhythm beginning to falter. There’d been enough foreplay, between the three of them, and both of them were closer to the edge than they’d usually be at this point. Still, he held on, mouth traveling to leave a stinging, violet mark on the soft skin of her rib cage beneath her breast, hips rolling and shifting with a determined force. His mouth returned to hers, hungry and full of teeth. “Izuru-“ he drove into her, harder, more suddenly, and she choked out a soft moan, each push driving a breath from her lungs, landing heavy at the apex of something inside of her. “Izuru-“ she pleaded, and he gasped into her mouth as he felt himself tip over the edge.

“I know,” he said, voice cracking. “Oh,” he sighed, burying himself in her, panting into her shoulder as he spilled into her. The heat flooded her in a wave, warming her in places she hadn’t felt before. She clutched him closer, let him fuck into her a few last, shallow times before pulling out. 

“Would you look at that,” Gin grinned, running a finger down the flushed shaft of Izuru’s cock. “You got started after all.” Izuru whined and flinched away from the touch, soft flesh burning with stimulation and feeling.

“We did at that,” she murmured, reaching down to where come was leaking from her slit and slicking it up over her clit. “I’m not finished yet, though.” She bit her lip, inhaling shakily as her fingers rubbed insistently, needily over her folds, her clit, rebuilding the steady strains of feeling and want that had pooled in her core before Izuru had overshot her. “Oh, Izuru,” she groaned, and he watched as she worked herself up again.

“So pretty like that,” Gin hummed, watching from beside her. “All open and needy.” She met his eyes and the look on his face hit her like a punch to the stomach.

“Gin,” she sighed, and he reached out to put his hand flat over her breastbone, fingers splayed over her chest. 

“Come on, sweet thing,” he said, voice low, smile dark. “Show us.” She nodded, looking to Izuru, who looked just as dazed and pleasure-struck as she did, just as hungry as Gin, just as entranced. It was like having a spotlight on her, paralyzing and full of pressure. Still, she fucked herself on her fingers, pulled them up and down the soft skin of her folds, worked over her clit until it was insistent and she was dripping more than Izuru’s come over the sheets.

“I-“ she gasped, feeling herself ease closer to the edge. Her fingers froze, just on the peak of feeling, and tears began to well in her eyes. Cool, soft fingers began to stroke over her folds, to circle her clot with gentle pressure, to push into her with the slightest weight. She looked up into Izuru’s glittering blue eyes and gasped her way to orgasm as he worked her through it. He didn’t stop when she began to keen, when her muscles began to flutter and contract. His fingers kept rubbing over, pressing into her clit. It felt raw, painful, but her nerves had thrown her so far into golden pleasure that she couldn’t even protest because it still felt good. He kept her deep in ecstasy, frozen and aching, until she began to sob with every painful touch at her clit.

“That’s it,” Gin hummed into the back of Izuru’s shoulder. “That’s beautiful.” His hand swept down her chest to lace around Izuru’s, pulling him away from her. She sobbed at the loss of contact, gasping with pain and satisfaction and need.

“Can I-?” Izuru asked, voice rough and tight. She nodded, raising weak arms to twine around his neck as he moved over her again. His cock was insistent, jutting painfully between her folds as Izuru maneuvered himself into place. Gin sighed, and when she turned to look he was lazily pumping his own cock, watching them with a curious, lazy expression.

“You’re just too pretty,” he said flatly. “Both of you. You make it hard to look away.”

“Don’t look away,” Izuru told him, and the way Gin swallowed made him smile darkly. “Watch us,” he teased him. “Try to keep yourself from joining in.” Gin scoffed, but couldn’t deny the temptation.

Izuru sank into her without warning this time, only a quick jerk of his hips and a deep thrust. He set a punishing pace, alternating painfully deep, slow strokes with light, quick movements that left her moaning into the air, mewling painfully at every roll of his hips.

“Lookit you,” Gin murmured, and she could hear the slick noises that meant he was already leaking and hard. “You wanna fill her up?” He teased Izuru, grinning. “You wanna paint her all over?”

“You’re infuriating,” Izuru huffed, but she could feel his cock twitch inside of her, sliding in and out with the kind of wet, sloppy sound that made her want to close her eyes and disappear in shame. She was alone in that, it seemed, because the louder they got, the more Izuru choked and groaned into her shoulder, her mouth, the louder Gin became in return, thighs spread around his shining, pink cock as he watched them greedily. It got harder to breathe, his thrusts pushing the air from her with their intensity, the violence of them. She could only gasp and sigh and whine as he fucked her, grasping at him, curling her fingers into his shoulder blades, his back, hitching her knees over his hips. She was coming apart, every movement too much and not enough. 

“Izuru, please-“ she begged, and he shifted his hips just so, the base of his cock rubbing insistently, painfully over the apex of her nerves, driving into her clit as well as her core, burning a streak of sensation through her. She arched into his movements, letting the wash of agonized pleasure take her, lift her just a little out of her own body. He could feel it, could feel her convulse and collapse and soften under him.

“Oh,” he breathed, rutting into her. “Oh, yes-“ the slick sounds of Gin’s hand on his cock echoed, the slide of fingers, the wet slide of Izuru’s cock and the slap of his hips on hers like a muffled chorus. She could feel her heart like a drum in her ribs, the scrape of his chest over hers, the sting of his nails in the softness of her breast, the feeling that she was being broken apart, cracked open. 

“Izuru,” she murmured, and he kissed her, cut her off, fucked into her so fully, so harshly she could feel him pressed to some barrier deep inside of her. “Izuru,” she mumbled into his lips, digging her nails into his back, clawing at him because there was nothing else she could do to express so much feeling, so much blissful agony. Gin moaned at the sight, and the sounds from beside them grew quicker, harsher.

Her fingers stalled at the dip of Izuru’s waist, the arch of his spine as it flowed into his hips. Her fingers caught there, stalled as she arched her own back into his thrusts. He panted once into her mouth, a muffled groan that disappeared as he came, the heat of his seed soothing some of the ache just as much as it intensified it. She could feel it filling her, flowing back down around his cock, joining his last efforts where they pooled deep inside of her, where they leaked from her slit, dripped over her thighs and his. His knees shook and he let more of his weight fall on her, comforting, warm. She swept gentle fingers up his back, her fingers sticking in places where she’d held deeply enough to cut him. She was just aware enough to hear Gin’s breathing hitch, his hand pause on his shaft. There was a brief moment where his held breath left the room feeling empty, and then his come spattered over their thighs, her stomach, hot and wet. His fingers were loose, still stroking his cock, letting the last few drops slip out onto her skin.

“Izuru,” she murmured into his cheek, “Izuru, please-“ Gin’s hand was curled like a fist beside her head, knuckles white with the intensity of his feeling. 

“Again,” Gin rasped, eyes open and narrow, watching them intensely. “I want to see you fill her up.” His hand was still tangled in the sheets, grip fierce and hard. 

“You liked it?” Izuru asked hoarsely, the thread of concern in his voice fading into a sort of pleased surprise. “Want to see us together again?” Gin nodded, lip caught so tightly between his teeth it turned white. She reached up and rubbed a thumb over it, coaxing him to let go.

“Was it different from the usual?” She asked quietly, and he nodded, creeping just a little further to kiss her temple, Izuru’s own red-raw mouth. 

“You were both so…” his breath shuddered out of him in a sigh, and he shook his head, forehead rubbing over Izuru’s shoulder. “You were beautiful.”

“I doubt that,” she snorted, face red. ”I’m hardly at my best.”

“You are,” Gin said quietly, pushing hair from her face. “You’re radiant, both of you. Full of each other.” Gin turned and flopped down, knees bent, legs all bunched up by their own, face pressed up close to where their chests pressed flat to each other, sweat-slick and heated. He spoke softly, as though he didn’t want to look them in the eyes while he said it.

“I used to hate you.” Her eyes closed slowly, resigned. Even though she’d always known she’d broken into something, it ached to think of how much trust their marriage must have shattered in Gin, how much hurt they’d caused. “You weren’t like me. So polite and so vacant. I thought he deserved better.”

“He does,” she said without hesitation. Gin snorted, dragging one fingertip over the top of her thigh. 

“Would you both stop saying that sort of thing,” Izuru said, frowning, looking between them. “The two of you are- you’re no worse than me.” He sat back on his heels, his cock slipping from her and letting loose a flood of sensation, of fluid and warmth. Gin’s face grew hungry again, and she had to let out a gasp. “You’re more than I deserve,” he said quietly, flopping down on her other side. Gin made a humming noise and she just looked away. 

“I doubt that,” she said, and Gin quirked a wider smile at the echo. He reached out and ran a finger through the spatter of come on her stomach, sucking it clean with a strange expression. He was silent for a moment, but when he spoke again Gin’s voice was rough, honeyed, full of want.

“I used to hate watching you together,” he pushed his face up close, forehead pressed into her thigh. Her hand crept down to his silver hair, stroked softly and gently over it as he leaned into her touch. When he spoke it was slowly, contemplatively. “You were everything they wanted him to have, and he loved you. You were all sweet for each other but not for me.” He shook his head, as if shaking away a thought. “I couldn’t tell if I was jealous of you or him, and it made me sad.” He sighed, those long, sticky wet fingers drawing little designs on her sweat-glazed ribs, Izuru’s body heavy beside hers. He curled his name into her skin, trails of his come and Izuru’s like cold brands not her skin in the night breeze. 

“And now?” Izuru asked, finally, voice low and soft.

“Now it’s simple,” Gin said, smiling almost sweetly at Izuru from over her hip. “You’re both mine.” Her fingers crept under his chin, and he tilted his face up to meet her eyes, soft and loving so much it made her want to cry. “And I’m yours,” he said softly. “I liked seeing you together.” He rose up to his knees, crawling forward to lean over them and kiss Izuru’s cheek, his soft hair. Her throat, her fingertips. “I liked seeing you take him,” he murmured. “Liked seeing him fuck you like you were going to come apart if he didn’t. I wanna see him fuck you so many times you can’t hold him in anymore. Want to see you dripping white.”

“You’re disgusting,” she said fondly, still cradling his face in her palm. Her thumb stroked a familiar line over his cheek. “You like the idea of it?”

“You having a baby?”

“Us having a baby,” Izuru corrected him, reaching up so his face was caught between their hands. “We’re not going to stop you from- you’ll be their parent as much as us.”

“I don’t have to be,” he said, reaching up to grasp each of their wrists, to press their palms to his mouth, to press their closed hands to his cheeks. To remember the feeling of their soft touch, their cold fingertips, warm skin. “But if you’ll let me, I’ll love them.” And he would, oh, he would. He could see it, feel it like a hole in his chest, could feel the fierceness burn. The things he’d do for either of them, the people he’d hurt, the worlds he’d burn- but more, but worse, because this child would be a piece of each of them, and to lose that would destroy them. Destroy him. “Please let me,” he said, and for the first time that night he wasn’t smiling.

“I’d allow you anything,” Izuru said, eyes brilliant and cold in the moonlight. He rose to his knees to kiss Gin, hands warm and tight where they held him. It was a long kiss, slow. Gin bent easily under Izuru’s touch, tilting his head back, his own hands falling to rest on Izuru’s wrists. Light and gentle, as if to hold him closer. Izuru broke away and rested his forehead against Gin’s. “You know better than to ask,” he whispered.

“I-“ Gin’s voice cracked, small and rough, and her arms wound around him. He leaned into them both, and 

“Izuru-“ her voice was cut off by his hand, pressed flat to her throat, fingers curling around it. Her pupils spread, her limbs relaxed. She made no sound.

“Lie back,” he ordered her quietly, and she did, melting back into the sheets. It was a lovely change every time, for Gin, to see someone so strong and certain of herself turn so quickly to obedience and selflessness. To see her lose every trace of defense and fall into their hands happy and willing. It felt like trust, the deepest sort of trust, and Gin knew just how far they’d come for her to fall so quickly before him. He knew what it was to be on the other side of it. Just how dangerous it was, how delicate. “Stay there,” Izuru told her, and she did, sweet and peaceful.

“Lookit you,” he purred, moving behind Izuru so he could sit between her thighs. “You’re like a little waterfall.” Izuru inhaled sharply, and Gin chuckled. “You’re lettin’ go of so much!” He teased her. “You’d think we’d both been in there with how wet you are, hm? You’ve got an ocean between your legs.”

“Gin?” She asked, voice quiet and clumsy. He nodded, and she relaxed back into the sheets. 

“You’re just making more work for me, now,” he tsked. “Makes me wish he’d put a couple pillows under you.” She turned pink, from her cheeks, her nose, down to her chest, and Gin let loose a little sound. “Can’t waste any of this,” he purred, twisting his fingers so they made thick, wet noises inside of her. Coated in come, thick with it, he rubbed his thumb over her clit, her nerves rising half-agony and half-bliss. “Gotta push it all back inside of you, huh? Make sure some little fish find a home.”

“Gin-“ she moaned, twisting, pushing up against him. “Gin, please-“

“Don’t worry, pretty princess,” he grinned, bending down to press his mouth to her stomach. “We’ll get you full again. We’ll give you so much of him you’ll be dripping, so much you’ll be leaking for days.” Izuru made a strangled noise beside her, and she turned her head, dazed to find him propped up on his elbows, watching them with wide and hungry eyes. His face was flushed with wanting, shame fleeing him at the sound of Gin’s voice cooing so much filth to them both. “We’ll plant a lovely little marigold in your belly, won’t we, Your Grace?”

“Gin- oh,” she moaned, arching into his hand. He grinned and pushed back, his fingers stroking and curling against all the soft, wet parts of her. 

“Lie back, sweet pea,” he ordered, and she relaxed, eyes clouding with obedience. He pulled his fingers out of her and wiped them on her stomach, a little x over her womb. “We’re gonna get you ready,” he told her, pushing her head back. Her lips parted, just a little. Izuru kneeled over her face, his slowly hardening cock bobbing in the air. He sighed, pressing his weeping tip to her lips. She blinked, looking confused, and a trail of precome dropped down her cheek.

“Open up,” Gin cooed, holding her jaw so Izuru could slide his cock into her throat. “Let him warm up again so he can fuck you proper one more time,” he told her, and her face went soft at the command. Gin wondered, absently, if he looked so happy and vacant when he dropped that far into submission. He wondered if they found him as lovely as he found her, pliant and loose and willing to do anything. Her lips were a pretty pink, stretched full around Izuru, and the flash of memory- her mouth wrapped around his shaft, not too differently, velvety and wet and warm, so warm- made his own cock twitch. “Suck,” he told her. “Don’t you want him to pump you full again?” She sighed, her bare chest falling with that tender want that suited her so well. “Want him to put a pretty baby in your belly?” Izuru thrust heavily into her mouth, and Gin licked his lips dry watching the bulge in her throat as she swallowed, the drag of Izuru’s soft sack over her cheek, her nose, the way her eyes looked right past the jut of his cock to his face, the flush of her cheeks-

“Gin,” Izuru said, voice strained. “Stop talking.” Gin grinned, pulled him into a kiss, and wrapped a fist around his spit-slick cock.

“Do you really want that, Your Grace?” He asked, grasp tightening. 

“No,” Izuru admitted, grasping his wrist. His palms were hot, blood rushing through him. His eyes were steel in the moonlight, the warmth of the candles hardly touching him. “But if you aren’t going to be quiet, we should start.” It was the voice he used to command them both, and Gin’s spine shivered. That was a voice nobody else heard, dark and solid, velvet-rich and wanting. 

“Sit up, princess,” Gin ordered her softly, and she did. She rose to her knees, listing a little to one side, and Izuru knelt on the bed in front of her. Gin ran a knuckle down her front, chin to breastbone to stomach to slit, one long line. All it would take to split her open, to set loose her blood and Gin’s secrets. He kissed her under the chin, just where he’d start the cut if he meant to. He could. She was so sweet for him, for both of them, defenseless and willing, she’d let him do it. The thought used to make him smile, used to make his heart loud with vengeance and envy, but now it sent a wave of nausea through him. There was ice in his blood, he thought, hand wrapping around her throat as he dragged his lips over her jaw. Ice and ugly venom. But not for her, not anymore. “Good girl,” he murmured into her temple, and the curl of her shy smile made the memory of his jealousy shrivel. “You’re such a good girl,” he repeated, and Izuru’s hand on his hip was cautious, curious. 

“Gin,” he said, half warning and half concern.

“Feels strange to be in the middle of this,” he admitted, pressing his forehead to her shoulder. She curled further into his touch, wrapping her arm around his neck as if to welcome him in. His heart ached.

“We want you here,” Izuru said, taking his other hand. “We won’t force you, but we- we do want you here.” He kissed Gin’s knuckles, silver and pink from years of scarring, years of service. He said nothing else, and she only nuzzled closer to Gin, affection and need slipping from her like physical things.

“I want to be here,” he said finally. “I always want to be here.” The firelight turned Izuru to shadows and gold, bronze cheeks and glittering wheat in his hair. He looked divine. A thing of ages past, steadfast and yet giving, wide eyes and a resolute mouth. Gin could still smell his blood on the air, could see it trailing down the backs of his thighs if he looked. “I forget that I need you, is all,” Gin said, quiet as breathing. Izuru’s face twisted, evened, softened.

“Need is a strong word,” he cautioned.

“I know,” Gin said, smiling. He looked down at her face, drowsy and content. The pool of Izuru’s come leaking over her thighs, her ankles where they sat under her. “You ready for one more round?” He asked her. She nodded, and Gin slipped around the other side of her.

“Sit up, sweetheart,” Izuru ordered, and she did. High up on her knees like that she looked precarious, waiting and guileless and thin.

“You’ll look so soft and round in a few months,” Gin hummed. “Ripe for the picking. All light and life.” Izuru pulled her onto his lap, pulling her knees so she was straddling his thighs, his cock rising between them, heated and flushed violet in the shadows of their bodies. Gin crept up behind her and let his hands rest on her hips. “You’ll be full and swelling with a pretty flower,” he said, hands sweeping down to her thighs, spreading them for Izuru. “You’re gonna let him into you,” he told her, and she nodded hazily into his shoulder, head lolling back into his chest as he and Izuru lowered her onto his cock. “You’re gonna let him in so deep a part of him never leaves, and then you’re going to take care of it til it blooms.” She sobbed, head hazy as Izuru fucked into her for the third time. He wasn’t harsh, wasn’t quick. He held her gently, rolled his hips with every stroke and sighed into her hair, into Gin’s mouth. But she was overwhelmed, oversensitive, still dripping his come over his cock, her skin rubbed red by the sheets, his hands, his hips. 

“You’ll be leaking milk,” he said, rolling her nipple between his fingers. He pinched it, tugged it, twisted until she was keening into Izuru’s mouth. Begging for more. “You’ll be so full of it you’ll ache, begging for someone to wring you dry.” She shook, twisted, and his hand crept up her side, around to cup her breast, as if weighing it, as if testing how soft it was, how empty. He could feel the heated scrapes where Izuru’s nails had cut her skin, the little whimpers she made when he pressed into them. He slid his hand just a little further to pinch her other nipple, to cup the swells of her breasts in both of his palms and work at the soft buds of flesh with his fingertips. “We’ll drink it all down, won’t we?” He purred. “We’ll lick honey from between your legs and milk from your chest.” He scraped his smiling teeth over the shell of her ear. “We’ll fill you up over and over until you’re white inside and out, covered in cream like a sweet strawberry, a pretty little tart. We’ll devour you,” he crooned into her ear, his cock hard where the cleft of her ass pressed against it, Izuru’s thrusts pressing Gin closer and closer. “Make you ours in every way we can.”

“Gin-“ Izuru groaned, leaning over her shoulder to kiss him, all teeth and tiredness and hunger. Gin kissed him back, hands still twisting and weighing and teasing her breasts, cock still pinned between his stomach and her back. “Gin,” he panted, grinding his hips to hers, pupils so wide his eyes seemed almost black. “You can’t keep talking like that-“

“Like what?” He asked, giving her nipples a particularly sharp twist and forcing a whine from her. “You don’t think about it? About fucking her until she catches?” Izuru choked, his next thrust harder, deeper, Gin’s hips shuddering as he fucked up against her back. “About how soft she’s gonna be, how you’re gonna be able to feel the weight of a little flower in her belly?” Gin let one hand slip down to her stomach, wide and flat, possessive and careful over where it’d rise if there was a baby there. “How you’re gonna have months where neither of us can be this rough,” and Izuru’s nails dug into her hips, sharp and stinging, sweat pooling in her cuts. “How desperate she’s gonna get? How pretty she’ll be all thick and full? How she’s gonna smile at that baby when it comes out, all fierce and sweet?” She couldn’t hold in all the feeling, all the sharp, shuddering arousal and hope and fear and want- so she let go, let her muscles relax, her nerves unspool, let the insistent, raw stroke of the base of Izuru’s cock push her into coming. She wept, falling apart, unraveling in their hands, and Izuru smiled into her lips, stroking a cold, insistent finger against her clit and making her shake.

“That’s it, princess,” Gin hummed, kissing her shoulder. “Open up. Let him fuck right through, let him fill you so deep you never let him out.“ His own breathing was growing harsher, faster, and she rolled her hips back against his, let his cock weep over her spine. “Let him put a little sprout in you. Let it grow-“ she arched her back, let both of them come forward at once, and then bucked her hips, ground her slit into Izuru’s cock, pressed her back against Gin’s. “Ask him,” Gin said, every pulse and throb of blood in his cock a perfect ache, a build of pain and pleasure that had him sighing. “Ask him for what you want.”

“Please,” she sighed into Izuru’s cheek. “Please fill me.” Izuru’s breath halted, his hands spasmed on her hips. “Please, Your Grace.” He thrust once more into her, and they felt him shiver, felt him shake.

“Oh-“ Izuru gasped, coming heavily, his last climax pushed from him as if he’d been punched in the stomach. She could feel the heat of it, thick and collecting inside her, could feel each little spit and shudder of his cock, every spurt of seed. He groaned into her shoulder, the overstimulation shorting his nerves, prolonging the ecstasy and the ache in the soft flesh of his cock. She wrapped her arms around his back, the sweat on their skin cooling in the evening breeze. It was pooling in her elbows, the small of his back, washing the blood from his cuts and leaving stinging salt, sitting in the jut of Gin’s collarbones, icy and sweet on their overheated bodies.

“Izuru,” she breathed, her muscles tightening around him, milking what little he had left out of his cock. “Izuru, please, oh-“ Gin’s hands twisted her nipples again, and she jerked. “Please,” she panted. “Please, Gin-“ His palms spread open, wide and soothing on her aching skin, letting the pain slowly subside.

“There you go,” he said, kissing the crown of her head. “Fuller’n a cream puff.”

“Do you have serious plans to eat her?” Izuru laughed breathlessly, face pressed into her shoulder, holding on as if to stop her from falling. 

“Mmmhm,” he grinned. “Something like that.” He hummed a little, lifting her off of Izuru’s cock and laying her down so he could slide in beside him and lift her hips. “Can’t let you waste it,” he teased her. “Even though you’re all used up.” He pushed a finger into her, just like before, but this time her muscles tried and failed to tighten around him. He wriggled it deeply into her, spilling some of Izuru’s come out over his hand, the split of her folds. “Look at you, chickpea. Gaping wide and ready for me.” She bit her lip, watching him lick come from his fingers. When he was done, white drops still shining on his lips, he gripped her hips tightly in both hands, hoisting her closer, higher, so she was tilted back.

“Gin-“ she began, forehead crinkling, “I-“ he bent to lick at the come dripping from her slit, his legs slipping out, splaying behind him, pressing his face more deeply between her legs, and she spasmed, raw and aching. “Stop,” she begged. “Please, I can’t-“

“Shhhh,” Izuru murmured, stroking the hair from her face. “You’ll feel better when you’re cleaned up,” he told her, and she nodded a little in agreement. Gin had paused, drawn back just enough to watch them both, his thumbs rubbing comfortingly over the divots of her hipbones.

“I don’t have to,” he offered, still and amiable. “We could just use a wet towel.” It pushed a small laugh out of her, and he smiled just a little more widely in return. 

“No,” she rasped, shaking her head. “No, you’re right.”

“I don’t have to be,” Izuru offered, and she reached down to rest a hand on Gin’s head. 

“If that’s what you want,” she said, stroking his hair absently. “I want you to be happy.” Her voice was wrecked, but distant, her posture still too limp, too unguarded to be fully aware. She wasn’t quite back yet, was still lost in a haze of obedience and pain. But she was aware enough to voice her own wishes, so Gin nodded, kissing the rise of her pelvis, moving slowly back down to where Izuru’s spend still leaked from between her legs.

“I’m happy if you’re happy,” he muttered, before beginning to lap at her slit. He was concentrated, ignoring Izuru’s soft voice in her ear, ignoring the ice of the breeze on his back, filling his mind with only her and Izuru, the sour, acidic taste of their mixed pleasure on his tongue. The feeling of her hand, weak and soft in his hair, the tensing and relaxing of the muscles in her legs, the weak, quick half-kicks whenever he hit a nerve. He made it his purpose to make her come, to leave her tired and soft-limbed and sweet, to lave every drop of white from her folds, to cover her pained mewls and groans with soft pants and cries of pleasure. He grasped her more tightly, buried his face in the wet warmth of her, sucked and nipped and swallowed. He closed his lips around her clit, and she trembled, the tight little button of nerves sucked and scraped and licked at until she was sobbing and weak in Izuru’s arms, until the last drops of her come and his had been swallowed. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, when he slipped up to lie beside them again. Izuru brushed a hand over his shoulder, standing. Gin’s eyes followed him as he walked to the window, back painted with sweat and blood and fingerprints, watched him close it, hands purposeful and certain on the latch. With the night locked out, the room warmed a little, and the candles stopped flickering. Izuru stood apart for a moment, though, bare skin painted gold and red again. He didn’t move, didn’t look, simply gazed out the window before turning to the other door and slipping out of the room. Gin turned back to her, dozing tiredly beside him.

“Don’t thank me, sweet pea,” he told her, stroking a finger down the slope of her nose. “I liked it more than you did, I bet.”

“Still,” she said sleepily. “You’re so kind.” Kind. It ached in his chest, burning beside all the love they’d shown him that night. He shook his head, though she wasn’t looking. 

“Rarely,” he bent down and whispered into her ear. She laughed. The door opened again, and Izuru came back with a wet cloth, a knife, and a bowl. “What’s that?” Gin asked, sitting up to squint at it.

“Fruit,” Izuru said, shrugging. “Figured you might be hungry.”

“Mm,” Gin said, smiling even more smugly than usual. “I just ate.” She snorted and kicked him weakly. “Best meal of my life,” he said innocently.

Izuru shrugged, lying down on her other side, away from the window. He leaned over her to kiss her. When he pulled back she made a small sound of protest, and he smiled fondly. “Eat something,” he told her softly, and Gin went rifling through the bowl for something she liked. 

“Here,” he said, plucking up a pomegranate. It was one of the only whole fruit there, more trouble than it was worth. Maybe that was why he chose it. He cracked it with the knife, peeling the soft yellow pulp away from a cluster of seeds. Izuru watched with mild interest as he pulled a few from their beds. He pressed one to the seam of her lips, and she reached up to take it. “Uh-uh,” he pulled his hand back. “From me.” She huffed, but opened her mouth. She bit down on it once, to taste it, sending a sharp crack through the room, and then swallowed it whole. It sent a strange feeling of foreboding through Izuru, but he said nothing. Gin continued like that for a while, pressing the shining pink seeds to her lips and letting them paint her mouth and his fingers violet. She sat up, a little more alertness returning to her posture, her eyes. Gin gave her all the seeds of half the pomegranate, his hands covered in sugar and dripping pink.

“Gin,” Izuru began, but he only blinked, turning to Izuru. He reached into the bowl and held his hand up to Izuru’s lips.

“You, too,” he said quietly, offering a strawberry. Izuru sighed, opening his mouth so Gin could give him a bite. He expected Gin to stop, maybe to hand him the rest, but he waited. Hand outstretched, steady, calm, he offered bite after bite until Izuru’s chin was sticky and his lips were sweet. Running a thumb over his bottom lip, he murmured something Izuru couldn’t hear, then kissed him.

Gin tasted bitter, like salt and skin. Izuru fancied he could taste strawberries, but then he had always thought too hard about things. Gin’s hand was sticky, too, all red and violet like blood where it cupped Izuru’s face. He pulled away and kissed the tip of Izuru’s nose before turning back to where she sat, filching blueberries from the bowl. 

“None of that,” he told her reproachfully, pulling her hand away. “Want a raspberry?” He asked, and she nodded, swallowing the last blueberry from her hand. He pushed it into her mouth with light fingers, the juice slipping down her chin before he swept it away with his thumb.

“Don’t you want any?” She asked, and he shook his head.

“You were sweet enough,” he said, and she flushed. 

“You have to be hungry,” Izuru insisted, leaning over to kiss her temple. He looked back at Gin, trying to understand. 

“Come on,” she insisted, holding a blackberry up an inch from his mouth. “For me.” He sighed, and leaned forward to bite into it. She smiled a little, kissing the trail of violet-pink from the corner of his mouth. 

He kept feeding them after that, never giving them a chance to try and return the favor. Always ready with red fingers and sugar-sweet skin, pressing pieces of melon and peaches and rip, blood-red berries to their cracking lips.

“She awake?” Izuru asked, when the firelight dimmed and the candles flickered low. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, facing the window, away from their faces. Gin looked down at her face, relaxed and unaware where she lay in his lap. 

“We were rough,” he said quietly, running a finger over her cheek. “Let her sleep.” Izuru nodded, wiping his hands and face with the cloth that he’d laid on the bedside table. It had dried some, with time, but it came away the pink of blood in water, tinted with sugar and color.

“You think it was enough?” He asked, and Gin looked at him over his shoulder. His voice was strange, sort of vacant. Gin turned back, stroking the hair from her eyes.

“I think if it wasn’t you’re going to do something stupid,” Gin said, in the same light tone he always used when discussing things of importance. Izuru sighed, then laughed bitterly, suddenly, rubbing at his forehead with long and weary fingers.

“What if it’s my fault?” He asked, acid still in his voice. “They laugh at her and taunt her about being childless, but what if-“ he stopped. “I never wanted children,” he admitted. “Not the same way you do, the way she does. I never stopped to think about whether I could.” Gin hummed, fingers still moving absently in her hair.

“Then we’ll see,” Gin murmured. “You’ll keep trying until you know for certain, and when you do-“

“When I do, I’ll- I don’t know.” He shook his head, worry and panic building in him. He stood and began to pace, frantic. Gin lifted her off of his lap and laid her down on the bed. “If it was her they’d have me annul our marriage. But I’m the King, Gin, and I’m the one at fault! I can’t- there’s nothing I can do beyond naming an heir, but I’m the last of my family, I can’t-“ he broke off, half-despair and half-helplessness, and Gin caught him in his arms.

“Shhhh,” Gin held him closely, more tightly than perhaps he would on any other day. He felt the blood under his hands, copper mixing with the scent of strawberries and sex. “It’s not you. It’s neither of you. You’ll have a kid by summer, and you know it.” 

“But what if we don’t?” He spat into Gin’s shoulder, hands curled into his skin. “What if neither of us are capable? Then what? The nobility rises up? Neighboring kingdoms claim the throne? Aizen has wanted this land for decades, I can only imagine-“

“Then I’ll defend you,” Gin lied. And it was a lie. It was cold in his mouth, in his heart. The certainty in his voice was clear-cut and icy, fierce and determined. “I’ll defend you both ‘til the day I die.”

“Don’t,” Izuru begged him. He could feel his body shake, all of those feelings unsettled and turned to tears. “Please, Gin, dont die for me.” Gin paused. He could have lied. He could have said “of course not” or “I’d never” or any sweet, lovely chivalrous lie that would settle his lover’s heart. But Gin had already lied about something too dear to his heart to repeat.

“I’m going to,” he reminded Izuru. “One day, in some way or another, I’m goin’ to die in your name.” Izuru shook, sobbing into his shoulder. Gin reached up to stroke his hair. “There’s no way I’d rather go,” he admitted in a whisper. “Both of you and Rangiku, you’re all I need. All I know.” He kissed Izuru’s forehead and pulled back to look him in the eye. “You’re all I’ve got.”

“But-“ Gin hushed him again, wiping the tears from his face with sweet-smelling fingers and a smile.

“You’ll have an annoyingly cute kid by the time the year’s out,” he repeated. “And you won’t have to worry about me or Aizen or anyone. And if you do,” he grinned, “I’ll tear them apart. Okay?”

Izuru looked at him, at the certainty in his face, the way he cupped Izuru’s cheeks. He looked back at her, soft and tired and full of want.

“Okay,” he agreed in a gentle whisper. His last tears were blinked away, childlike, and Izuru looked away. “I’m sorry.” Gin scoffed and pulled him in for another kiss.

“Mm-mm,” Gin hummed, looking at his face again. “Don’t hide your fear from me. I’m not like the rest of ‘em.” His smile became harder, somehow. Less sweet. “I want it all, remember?” He asked. “Especially the fear. I’m your guard. It’s my duty to swallow your fears and keep you safe.”

“I’m a grown man,” Izuru said quietly. “I shouldn’t be weeping in your arms like a child.”

“All grown men weep like children,” Gin said reproachfully. “They all used to be children.”

“Fool,” Izuru said fondly. Gin kissed him again, plucking the wet cloth from where he’d left it on the bedside table. He held Izuru close once more, pressing his head into his shoulder to wipe the blood from his skin. It felt right, in a way, that he should take it. That he should clean it all away. When he was satisfied, he dropped the cloth back on the table and then folded back the covers to lay them over her, already shivering in the cold. Izuru crept between the covers to lie down beside her. He looked back, waiting. “Are you-?”

“Just a moment,” Gin said. “Patience.”

“I don’t have that,” Izuru lied, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back in case you weren’t done cryin’,” he teased Izuru, who huffed and fell back into the pillows. He turned to her, Gin saw, and kissed her forehead, and it warmed something in him. Felt right, felt good to know they would have each other when he was gone for good. He threw back the sheets- and there were many, finer than anything a man like him should touch, before padding to the walls. He slipped away, around the room to douse the candles, and the wisps of smoke and the smell of cinders made him drowsy. The floor beneath his feet was cool, though it should have been warmed by the fire and the three bodies in the room. It felt like home. He slipped back under the sheets and pressed his cold feet into the blankets to warm them, Izuru turning to face him. They were silent for a long moment.

“You’re going to be alright with this?” Izuru asked, perhaps suddenly. Perhaps not. Gin looked down at him, glimmering slivers of ocean-green a reassuring sight. “If we do have- with the baby?” With us having a child without you, he didn’t say, because he hated it more than Gin ever would. 

“It’ll be mine, too,” he reminded him, and the relief in Izuru’s face was sweet. Gin drew a line down his cheek, up to his forehead. “Even if wasn’t, even if neither of you loved me, how could I hate a kid that comes from the two people I love most?” He whispered. 

“But-”

“I’m yours,” he said, in that same, soft tone. “All of me. If I had to stand aside and watch you for the rest of my life-”

“Please don’t,” he whispered, and Gin kissed his nose with a sweet smile.

“If I had to stand aside for her, I would.” His voice shook, and Izuru held him closer. “Neither of you would ask me to. I know you love me.” he said, the thinnest, shining slip of green betraying his feelings, despite his false smile, despite his still, perfect face. “I know you’ll love this kid. I-“ he hesitated, then shook his head once and continued. “I know I’ll love this kid. But even if I had no part in your heart, in hers, I’d love them.” He looked at Izuru and there was a particular intensity in his voice. “You understand?”

Izuru tried, for a moment, to imagine a world in which Gin was only a soldier to him. A world where he was a trusted advisor, a friend, even, but no more. A world where he never saw those sea-blue eyes flutter open, where he never heard the soft gasp of completion from pale lips, where he never felt those cool, strong fingers on his skin. A world where every order given to Gin was for war, for business, for blood, not a scrap of love or pleasure or affection between them. He did his best to imagine a world where his children would look upon Gin as a servant, an associate of their father’s, a chess piece, a guard but not a guardian. A world where Gin knew nothing of feeling from them, where his King and Queen were merely that and no more. He tried, for a moment, to imagine a courtship uncomplicated by his split and bleeding heart, a wife who looked upon him with guileless obliviousness, a world where Gin’s death would mean nothing- and failed.

“No,” he said, voice filled with the ache of bitter possibility. “No, I don’t understand at all.”

“No,” Gin said, pulling Izuru into his chest, letting him wrap shaking arms around his waist. “I didn’t think you would.”

And how could he? Gin wondered, basking in the gentleness of Izuru’s fingers tracing lines up and down his back. How could someone so certain in their love imagine not feeling it? But Gin had imagined, had drawn himself through tortured scenes of the future for years before Izuru married, had dreamed his defeat, his rejection, his banishment. He had written his own demise and his King’s and his sister’s and then, when at last his heart understood hers, his Queen’s. Gin had fear in his bones, in his soul, and in his heart of hearts he had imagined this scenario a thousand times before it had finally occurred. He had imagined himself locked outside, kept apart from the man he loved while that same man sought an heir, lost himself within some nameless woman, forgot him. Built a life and a family that he’d have no part in, no right to. And even then he had known, in his beating, soft heart, he’d known that he’d die for that child, that he’d do anything for Izuru’s family. Even if they were the very thing to steal him from Gin- he’d love them as deeply and unwillingly as he was capable of. 

In a way, knowing it, feeling it- it was a relief. 

It was also a burden. Aizen was waiting. Hiding in the darkness in the corners of the kingdom, asking Gin for weaknesses to exploit, asking him for the keys to the kingdom, the armory, Izuru’s heart, his own- and there Gin’s mind faltered. Stalled. Rangiku. His freedom. His honesty. His life. He’d already let Aizen take too much, and in the course of his attempts to stop it from happening again, he was going to lose so much more. There was weight in that, even as a passing thought. He reached past Izuru, already dream-soft and heavy with sleep, to push a lock of hair behind her ear.

He’d had more time with Izuru, and there was a part of him certain, unbreakable, that knew that even if he left Izuru would believe in him. Would continue to love him and hope for him and wait. That knew just as surely that she’d turn away. That she would be cold and close in on herself and never let him back in. So he kissed her fingertips and called her sweet names and spoke to her with as much honesty as he could, because he knew this would be all the time he’d ever have. If he returned, it would be as he’d first feared- Izuru, torn between them. Her, cold and furious at the unworthy stranger in her husband’s bed, her husband’s heart.

His hand swept down her cheek, and further, expecting to reach her hand, curled close to her face. 

Instead it hit cold steel.

Gin looked past Izuru’s tousled, starlit hair and found Shinso in her hands, held as closely to her body as Izuru was to his. Her face was soft and unburdened in sleep, but her grip on the sword was fast, immovable, as gentle and fierce as the woman herself. He couldn’t help but smile, just a little. Hope bloomed, heavy and unwanted, in his bleeding heart.

“Love you, too,” he whispered, stroking one finger down Shinso’s hilt. 

The stars continued to shine. The wind continued to blow. Their heartbeats lulled him to sleep, gentle and sweet in their bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I lied a little about communication. 
> 
> The sword is a big thing in Arthurian myth, though which Arthurian myth depends on who you ask. Pretty often, it’s Tristan and Isolt, from what I’ve heard, but the usual thing is that one man (usually the king or the more prestigious knight) finds the other with his wife and rather than wake them up and scream, he’s so overcome by grief and betrayal that he stabs his sword into the bed/ground/whatever between them as a barrier and a sign that he knows. I always found that to be really beautiful and symbolic so of course I tossed it in like a twopenny trope I’m allowed to play with, which it is not. Also, just the idea of Gin as having learned to rely so heavily on his sword that he can’t bear to quite leave that security behind is… truly some emotional fuckery that I’d hate to leave out.
> 
> Depending on how much I can bring myself to write, there may be more installments in this series, both before and after this because I am. A monumental idiot who writes the middle first.


End file.
